


Presentable

by hrhowling



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - James doesn't die, Angst, Depression, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heartbreak, Sarcasm in future chapters, Slight Omegaverse, Supportive Sirius and Remus, Werewolf!Blacks, Werewolf!Malfoys, i'm really sorry folks, stupid author cannot keep to their update schedule
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-25 11:37:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7531285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hrhowling/pseuds/hrhowling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are different here. James was not present that Halloween, and now lives with a wall of guilt that is near impossible to shake off. Harry is raised without the hardships forced upon him by the Dursleys, and instead has a healthy family life and a friend who more closely resembles a sister. Hogwarts has new trials, and more secrets, and the story is just a little bit stranger</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heartache

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, yeah, I need to stop writing new stories and finish the ones I've got out already, but I honestly couldn't care less anymore.
> 
> So before we start, there are some things I want to clear up.
> 
> \- James Potter is not dead. He was at a meeting with Dumbledore when Voldemort attacked his home in Godrick's Hollow.  
> \- After the death of Lily; Remus and Sirius moved in with James and Harry in order to help them cope with the loss.  
> \- The Blacks and the Malfoys are both werewolf families, so fun times are imminent. This'll be fun, especially when I get into the details of the werewolf culture.  
> \- The timeline has been shifted forward several years, meaning Harry's first year of Hogwarts takes place in 2009. My reason for this is because I want to have some fun with wizards and more modern technology. e.g., several muggleborn students have come up with a charm to charge their phones and games consoles. Also; three words: Arthur Weasley, Internet. Take a guess to what I have planned.  
> \- Werewolves are split into two subcultures: the standard, canon werewolf, and the culture I came up with myself. The canon transforms every full moon and has to keep taking the Wolfsbane Potion in order to retain their humanity. My lycanthropes depend upon another concoction that gifts them with near-constant control over their shapeshifting and renders most bites incapable of infecting humans, but there are multiple repercussions to level it out, which is why not all werewolves choose this option.  
> \- I've wanted to write something with the Omegaverse for a while (look it up, it's on Fanlore), and this is it. I'm not going into smut. Talking about Omega heats, and basic sex ed for werewolves, yeah, I'll do that, but writing actual sex scenes is territory that I dare not tread. I'm not a porn writer. Anyways, my second subculture of werewolves is split into this hierarchy. It'll be elaborated on later.
> 
> So... I don't have much else to say without giving away too much, so... enjoy, I guess...

James Potter was one of few who knew what heartbreak really felt like. It hit him harder than any bludger could have ever done, shattering every bone in his chest before sinking its searing fangs into him; the venom leaking into his bloodstream. The poison was a creeping numbness that stilled the barely functioning pieces of his heart before slowly infecting the rest of him, washing out the colour of his eyes into a dull, lifeless grey, turning his hair into a limp, tarnished tangle and sapping the strength from his gradually thinning body. There was no spring left in his step, his once jaunty laughter was non-existent and he barely had the willpower to haul himself out of bed and face another endless day. Life had become a chore to him; one he only completed out of necessity.

It… could've been so easy to just… stop… End it… But he had to carry on for Harry. Harry was the only reason he still pushed forward, still had a reason to keep going, still had the willpower to get up off of whatever he'd fallen asleep on (he'd fallen asleep on the stairs more than once).

Regardless, he was still wasting away. Despite his lethargy and fatigue, sleep had struggled to reach him since the funeral. That had been when he'd finally succumbed to the reality of what happened two weeks prior. More often than not, he forgot to feed himself properly; only ever snacking every once in a while; and the degradation of his health showed visibly. His eyes; constantly bloodshot from his violent bursts of tearful despair; had sunk into heavy, sickly puce bags, cheekbones dug into his sallow skin and his clothes weren't as filled out as they should have been.

Showers occurred more frequently and lasted longer than they used to; James finding comfort in the mind-numbing drone of water pounding against him and grounding himself in the tender pain that was a result of turning the temperature up a little more than necessary. Anyone who came across him would find his hair damp and face flushed from the heat he'd almost drowned himself in shortly before leaving the house with Harry to get some air.

Unfortunately, leaving the house meant running into other people. _A lot_ of other people. People who all seemed to have rehearsed the same infuriating, meaningless words reserved just for especially for him.

'I'm so sorry for your loss.'

Stop it. Stop saying that. He hated it. He hated the disgusting sincerity and the pity in their eyes whenever they looked at him and Harry. Hated being reminded that Lily was _gone_ , and there was _no_ bringing her back. He'd never see her again, because he hadn't been able to protect her, and it was his fault she was dead because he _wasn't there_! Instead he was at a stupid meeting with Dumbledore whilst that _monster_ had just waltzed in and… and…

The floodgates opened again, sending hot tears cascading down his hollow cheeks. Burying his face in his hands, he did nothing to hold back the heaving sobs that racked his chest. Guilt, despair and hopelessness overwhelmed him; having been bottled up long enough; the only outlet being this outburst of crushing emotions.

"Da?"

Looking up through misty glasses, James's eyes met with Harry's, who was looking up at him with those agonisingly familiar eyes. Toys discarded, the eighteen-month-old's face bore no surprise, but a familiar worry that really shouldn't have been there. Not at this age.

"I'm fine, sport," James croaked, wiping away tears and trying to force a smile onto his face. "Just… just…" He had nothing.

A knock at the door alerted him to visitors. He wondered who it was now. Daily Prophet come to twist his words into some sob story that they could publish? Someone who'd read said story and wished to offer help? In other words; people he didn't want to deal with.

It wasn't the Prophet.

Or an offer of help.

It was Remus and Sirius. They were both looking at him with immense worry, and the latter of the two Marauders was shifting about on his feet, as if wanting to step forward, but trying to stay put at the same time.

Eventually, Remus broke the tense, awkward silence. "James?"

"H-hey…" James murmured quietly. "I wasn't expecting you to be here."

"We sent you a letter a few days ago, remember?"

"Oh. Sorry, I… I've not been… in the best of sorts recently."

Both men shared a concerned glance with each other before looking back at him. "Can we come in?" Sirius enquired. James nodded and stepped aside to allow them in. As they brushed past, he caught the musky odour of soil and mountain flowers, and it was almost like someone had cast a relaxation charm on him, because almost every muscle in his body seemed to go lax and his mind fogged over for a moment..

"Pafu!" Harry shouted at the sight of his godfather, and James managed to pull a smile onto his face at the sound.

"Hello, Harry," Sirius chuckled, kneeling down next to the boy and picking up a toy to play with him. Meanwhile, Remus turned to rest his gaze on James.

"You look awful," he stated bluntly, concern in glimmering in his eyes.

"Mind telling me something I don't know?" James muttered, bitter regret clear in his tone as he wiped away the damp from his eyes.

"Do you want to talk about it? I've learned that the best thing to do in these situations is to get it off your chest."

Reluctance flared in James's eyes, but he nodded and made his way into the kitchen anyway. Scenting the room, Remus realised that there was very little food for James save for the baby food reserved solely for Harry.

"What've you been eating?" he asked worriedly.

"Just… just snacks, really," James murmured. "I've not had much of an appetite since… since Lily…"

He faltered and choked, more tears stinging at his eyes. His throat clenched and the next thing he knew, he was choking on tears and sobbing again. It was horrible, it _wasn't fair_. Lily was gone, and there was nothing he could do. It was his fault, he hadn't been there, and things were just spiralling out of control-.

He didn't realise he'd been uncontrollably babbling all of this, the stream of despair pouring unheeded from his lips as his poorly bottled up emotions exploded outwards.

"James… James, it's not your fault," Remus murmured softly, placing a gentle hand on James's shoulder and guiding him out of the room. Leading him upstairs, he tucked the distraught man into his bed and waited for him to finish crying himself to sleep before leaving the room and heading back downstairs, where Sirius was still playing with Harry, but had a tension about his shoulders that indicated he'd sensed his friend's distress. "He's worse than I expected."

"I noticed," Sirius said grimly whilst Harry's attention was occupied by a black Labrador plushie. "We can't leave him on his own whilst he's suffering like that; there's no telling what will happen to him. Or Harry, for that matter."

"Agreed," was the dour response. "I suggest we talk him into moving in with us. After all, this house was only provided for him by the Ministry. They could take it away from him at the drop of a hat. Grimmauld Place is yours, there's no threat of homelessness looming over James's back."

"I'm not sure. The house is still rather… grim… That painting of my mother might be a bad influence on Harry."

"Would you rather James died of starvation?"

Sirius had no answer to that. Nodding, Remus turned on his heel and headed back to the kitchen in the hopes of finding something he could use to make into a valid meal for when James woke up. There wasn't much; mostly stuff for sandwiches, but James needed more than that if he was going to be healthy again.

Still. It was better than nothing.

Managing to cobble together a bowl of soup with some bread on the side, Remus also dished out some food for Harry as well, leaving the soup on the kitchen counter for James to collect when he woke up. Taking the mashed carrots into the living room, he and Sirius took turns in feeding it to Harry. "Here comes the Snitch, Harry! Catch it! Nom!" Their muted laughter increased in volume as the tension in the room gradually eased up.

They almost didn't notice the woe begotten, still exhausted presence of James at the door until he knocked quietly on the doorframe. His eyes were still bloodshot, and he looked paler than before.

"Feeling better?" Sirius questioned hopefully.

"I think so," James mumbled, rubbing his eyes and almost knocking his glasses off his face in the process. "Thanks for feeding Harry for me."

"It wasn't a problem," Remus dismissed. "I made some soup for you, it's in the kitchen."

An incomprehensible mutter was James's only answer, and he wearily flicked his wand, summoning the bowl of soup. It had cooled in the time since it had been made, but another lazy flick of the wand and the quiet murmur of a spell, and it was steaming yet again. With halting steps, he walked over to the couch and sat down on it with a slack, despondent expression on his face.

With a sigh, Sirius chose to breach the subject that he'd been discussing Remus just a short while ago. "James… Remus and I were thinking of… of staying with you for a while. Or you moving in with us… Whichever you prefer…"

James said nothing, not even looking up from the soup that he was currently spooning into his mouth. It was good; Remus could cook well.

Remus finished the statement. "At least until you're back on your feet."

A pause. Blank and silent, he lowered the spoon back into the bowl, which he cradled in unsteady hands. "You really think I can ever move on from this?" was the barely audible enquiry.

"I know it will take a while," Sirius pressed. "But right now, you can barely support yourself. At least let us help."

"I… okay… Thank you…"


	2. Grieve 'Til You Can Grieve No More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months since Lily's death. Christmas is around the corner, thus some family friends come over. James receives some advice.

Even after the chaos of Hogwarts, James still found himself in some of the strangest situations. For example: hanging halfway off the couch and playing tug-of-war with a white werewolf cub, glasses nearly falling off his face and appearance a general mess; as it had been in the past few months.

As it always was.

Still, he couldn't help but feel numb as he kept a lazy, languid hold on the length of knotted rope that the two-year-old cub was noisily fighting for.

"Has she won it yet?"

Listless thoughts interrupted, James looked up to see Galen standing over him, looking down at the cub with fatherly fondness. Strands of dark hair hung over his face to partly obscure a pair of mismatched eyes; one a glinting green, the other a rich mahogany brown.

"No," James grunted. He gave a teasing tug on the rope in an attempt to rile the cub up some more which earned an irate growl from her. "She's got spirit though."

Galen chuckled. "That she is," he stated. "She's clever too, like her uncle."

"How's he doing?"

A soft sigh was the first response he received. "It's an uphill battle, but he's managing."

"Good to hear."

"Da!" Harry cried from where he sat in the middle of the room, pushing a toy train back and forth across the thick carpet. "Daaa! Wanna pway!"

“Okay, I’m coming,” James said, sliding off the couch and shuffling over to where Harry sat. He looked like a giant worm. Immediately, the werewolf cub tottered after him, stumbling straight into Harry.

“Ow!” Harry squealed. He fell onto his back, limbs flailing as the cub lay on top of him. “Off, Lowee! Off!”

‘Lowee’ yipped in reply, tail wagging.

“Loki, sweetheart,” Galen coaxed, gently picking his child up off Harry. “How many times have I told you to do that? No, stop biting my fingers.”

“Galen! I thought you were helping make dinner!”

“Okay, okay! Just making sure Loki doesn’t try squashing Harry.” He returned his attention to his daughter. “Play nice, okay?”

“Rooff!”

* * *

Dinner at Grimmauld Place these days was thankfully more pleasant than it once was. For one, it was now being held in the kitchen, as opposed to the oppressively dark dining room, and there was _a pleasant atmosphere_. No longer did Sirius have to endure the tense silence of the infrequent occasions in which his family ate together. No more did he have to hold his tongue with baited breath in case he said something that would get him beaten.

Right now, he was sat at the head of the table – sacrilege if his parents found out – laughing and drinking from a generous glass of wine. Remus was sat to his left, keeping an eye on his alcohol intake whilst James was seated opposite and feeding mashed potatoes to an all too eager Harry. Right next to him, Loki (now no longer transformed) sat, also being fed by her father. Both babies were strapped into separate high chairs next to their parents.

At the other end of the table, wrapped up in black robes, was an aging woman with dark eyes and a lined face that spoke of many years of wisdom and a respectable amount of heartache. Her hair was still dark, despite her age, and her expression as she looked at her family was nothing but fond.

“So Galen, any new dragons tried to chew on your limbs lately?” Sirius joked loudly, catching Galen’s attention.

“Some Firebolt eggs hatched a few months ago,” Galen explained excitedly, his eyes gleaming. “Nearly lost my eyebrows.”

“Again?”

“Hey, those things are literally quite explosive when they hatch. Hot slime flies everywhere, it’s disgusting and painful.”

* * *

Dinner finished, everyone vacated to the living room. As Sirius, Remus, Galen and Gwen lounged on one of the couches, talking about work (or lack thereof, in Sirius’s case), James sat by the fireplace, watching the kids play with toy trains together. In the small armchair a few meters away from him, Galen’s mother, Cydonia, sat watching.

“Claws away, child,” she snipped when Loki started getting a little too rough and tumble with Harry. “I will not be held accountable for you blinding your godfathers’ nephew.” Immediately, Loki stopped, recognizing the severe tone of her grandmother’s voice.

“Sowwy,” Loki whimpered, patting Harry on the head as a means of saying truce. Harry hugged her back.

James couldn’t help but smile. Kids could be such sweethearts.

“Still grieving, I see,” Cydonia observed. “I can understand that.”

James’s hooded brown eyes looked up at her, confused. “Excuse me?”

Sighing, the aged werewolf lifted herself out of the armchair and sat down on the floor near to James. “Keep grieving,” she continued. “Grieve until you can grieve no longer. If that takes you the rest of your life, then so be it. It’s been thirty years, and I am still grieving for my brother. Ten years, and I am still mourning the future loss of my dear brother-in-law. Grief, once you find it, is a natural part of life. It will stay. For how long, one will never know. But in reality, it never truly leaves us. We must all find a way to live with it.”

“How long do you think until I learn to live with it?”

“Why are you asking me, boy?” Cydonia said. “I do not know the inner workings of your mind. For Fenrir’s sake, I can hardly understand my own. You may have found a way to live with it by tomorrow. You may not learn to endure until years from now. You may handle it without a problem, or there may be days where you simply cannot handle it, and your world seems to fall apart around you. Either way, it’s impossible to predict. But always know that I am always around to talk to you about it. Until I die, of course. Then you may converse with a portrait of mine. Might make a nice replacement for that ghastly visage hanging in the hallway.”

“Heh… thank you. Uh, kids, stay away from the fireplace. Harry, no.”


	3. Chapter 3 - Your Worst Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's every parent's worst nightmare...

It was every parent’s worst nightmare; seeing their child lying in a hospital bed, life support spells being cast over them on an hourly basis as they were forced to wait in fretful silence in another room. It was something that haunted James as he slept, often scaring him awake so he could check on Harry. He didn’t think he’d be able to take it if it did in fact happen…

But it was Galen who sat in the waiting room with his wife, hands shaking and tears threatening to spill from his eyes as Gwen dozed next to him, her brow creased with worry. He should have seen what was going on, should have expected this. Shouldn’t have chosen for them all to stay in the bloody Himalayas after Loki, a runt, was born. This was his fault…

He’d frozen when Loki had almost stopped breathing. If his mother hadn’t thought to take the Floo network to St Mungo’s, she would likely have died. And it would’ve been his fault because-.

“Galen, you’re clawing at yourself,” Gwen murmured in his ear, halting his thoughts. Looking down at his hands, he noticed that he was in fact clawing at his wrists, ugly red scratches stark against his skin. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart. We didn’t know it would get this bad…”

Galen said nothing, simply sheathing his claws and rubbing his wrists to ease the stinging pain that he’d inflicted upon himself. Thankfully, he hadn’t drawn blood. He didn’t want to cause a fuss. Done enough already...

For a while, there was only silence in the waiting room. Four other people shared the room with the two werewolves, all in varying states of worry for family members of their own.

It wasn’t long before the sound of footsteps entered the room, and most people (Galen included) looked up to see Remus walking in, worry creasing his features.

“Remus?” Gwen said quietly.

“Cydonia told us what happened,” Remus explained. “Is Loki okay?”

“She is now,” Galen murmured. “She’d have been completely fine if I…”

“Don’t you dare blame yourself, Galen,” Gwen growled, taking his hand and gripping it tightly. “We are both at fault for what’s happened. You voiced your concerns for Loki’s health from the start, but we placed too high of an expectation on her. So stop it with the self-deprecating crap, okay sweetheart?”

“She’s right,” Remus agreed, absently rifling through his pockets for a bar of chocolate. “I know you carry a lot of responsibility for the wellbeing of your family, but you can’t expect yourself to anticipate every single thing that will happen to them.” He found half a bar of cherry and almond chocolate and held it out for the couple to take.

“We’re fine, Remus, thank you,” Gwen declined politely. Galen said nothing.

“I insist,” Remus pressed. “It’ll calm your nerves, trust me. It always helps me.”

Smiling tiredly, Gwen sighed and broke off a large piece of the chocolate, split it in half and gave the larger chunk to Galen. Her husband stared at the offered sweet for a moment before finally eating it. He was almost finished when a young doctor wearing the thickest spectacles known to man walked in.

“Mr. and Mrs. Sylva?” he enquired politely, grey eyes surveying the inhabitants of the room.

“That’s us,” Gwen said, standing up from her seat and brushing down her skirt. Galen finished off the chocolate and hovered at her side. Remus hung back, not finding it to be his place. “Is she okay? Can we see our daughter?”

“She’s fine, Miss Sylva,” the doctor reassured. Immediately, the tension fled both parents’ shoulders as relief swept over them. “I must admit, your daughter’s quite the fighter. She pulled through a lot better than we’d anticipated. She’ll live, and there won’t be any lasting effects from this.”

“Thank goodness,” Galen breathed. Remus also let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“However,” the doctor continued. Galen and Gwen tensed. “We must discuss measures to prevent such things from happening again. She might not be so lucky next time.”

Galen practically jumped forward. “W-we’ll do anything.”

The doctor frowned. “Let’s go see your daughter,” he said. “We’ll talk about it there.”

Galen and Gwendolyn both followed the doctor out of the waiting room, with a nervous Remus in tow.

* * *

Galen and Gwendolyn were both sat by Loki’s incubator cot, pale-faced and terrified. Galen was on the verge of tears, clutching onto his wife’s hand for emotional support. They were both stressed, and Galen hadn't slept in a while, adding to his emotional baggage.

Remus was hovering by the doorway, wanting nothing more than to say something that would comfort them. But as usual, the words failed him. It was frustrating and upsetting, not being able to do anything.

“I don't know what to do,” Galen whined softly, for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. He lifted his hands to his mouth again, only for Gwen to take his wrist and force it back into his lap. The look on her face told him he was _not_ going to be chewing his fingertips to shreds.

“We’ll figure something out,” she said firmly. “If the doctor says we have to leave the Himalayas to ensure Loki’s health, then-.”

“But how are we supposed to do _that_?” Galen wailed. “It will take _at least_ a year for my boss to find someone to replace me, and that's only _after_ I've submitted a letter of resignation! Knowing that racist bigot, it will take him bloody _months_ to approve it!” His face dropped in horror. “Don't tell him I said that.”

“I can go to England ahead of you,” Gwen offered, squeezing her husband’s hand reassuringly. “Take the kids with me, and you can come over once everything has been sorted.”

“I can’t leave you on your own with five kids for a good two years”, said Galen. “Hell, how am I supposed to cope without you? All of you! I'll probably blow up the house trying to make breakfast!”

“…Galen, you're the one who does most of the cooking in the house.”

“And how are we supposed to afford a second house in _England_?” Galen continued. “Places big enough to house a family our size don't come cheap. Heck, our house was provided for us by the Ministry!”

“I can manage,” Gwen said. “I can take up a full-time job at the Ministry until you get one.”

“But that puts stress on _you_!” Galen protested. “And who will look after the kids when you're working?”

“Your mother, perhaps? She'll have to move too. And I can also ask my mother.”

“Oh, Fenrir’s ghost! Mother! What will she say about this? She'll say we're uprooting her from her home! She'll flip! How will Uncle James handle this? He doesn't travel well, Floo Powder makes him ill!”

“Oh, come on, he's not that bad.”

“We have no idea how everyone else will react to this!”

“Well _maybe_ we should focus less on being polite, and more on _saving our daughter’s life_.”

Stricken silence descended upon both of them. Galen’s hands were shaking. Gwen was shocked into stillness by her own words.

“I'll look after her.”

Both sets of eyes fell onto Remus. They'd forgotten he was there.

“Come again?” Galen squeaked.

“I'll look after her,” Remus repeated haltingly. “Um… until she's able to… you know… go back to Tibet.”

“But what about James and Sirius?” Gwen asked, concerned. “Will they mind?”

“They won't mind,” Remus insisted. “Once I talk to them, they’ll understand. I'm Loki’s godfather after all. And practically their mother by now.”

Galen and Gwen both looked at each other with identical looks of surprise. A silent conversation took place between them, frantic and debating. Remus could only wait with baited breath.

Then Galen stood up, walked over to Remus, and stood in front of him with a blank expression. Remus got increasingly nervous.

He was suddenly yanked into a tight hug, with Galen’s face pressed into his shoulder as the wolf sobbed with relief.

“Thank you,” was the whispered reply. “Thank Lord Loki, thank Fenrir, _thank you_.”

Remus couldn't help but smile as he returned the embrace. His grin widened when Gwen got up and hugged him as well, also crying with gratitude.


	4. Chapter 4 - Harry Remembers...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I had this chapter and the next finished for ages??? And I din't??? Post it???
> 
> THIS MUST BE AMENDED!!! I AM SO SORRY!!!

Harry remembers turning two, zipping around on a tiny broomstick, at an astonishing one meter per second. All the while, the weak werewolf girl he was slowly coming to see as a sister stumbled after him on shaky legs. Remembers smearing brightly coloured paint on the face of his sleeping father whilst Loki did the same to his Uncle Padfoot. In the opinion of both toddlers, it was worth getting into trouble. 

Harry remembers summer; going on picnics and eating more grass than sandwiches. Remembers watching Loki eat all the ham ones and being scolded for eating the ham but not the bread. He had faint recollections of seeing a flower on the nearby pond and summoning it over, bringing with it a massive trail of dripping white roots. He remembers the way his father’s face fell when he saw it. He didn’t understand why. Uncle Remus asked him to put it back, saying something about appreciating nature, not procuring it. He didn’t get it at the time. Nor understood why they had to leave not long after. 

Harry remembers a birthday party. The loud squalling of heavy-set toddlers surrounding him as his cousin blew out the candles on a cake and spat all over it. Remembers asking for Loki because the other kids were no fun. His father observing the chaos with something akin to squeamish horror, and ‘politely’ declining a slice of cake. Harry later caught him sneaking extra cupcakes from the lavish buffet table. They made a deal that if he didn’t tell, he’d get a share of the spoils. Turns out Miss Fig made some really nice pumpkin and pistachio cupcakes. Why no one else had them, he’d never understand. He remembers looking upon the man and woman he was supposed to call Aunt and Uncle, but not seeing the warmth he’d expected. He was alright with not seeing them as frequently as Remus suggested. 

Harry remembers his third birthday. His father invites a shy, butter-haired boy to come over, accompanied by a woman dressed as a vulture. Loki gives him a curious sniff and lies on top of him, Harry tries to get him to play tug of war. It doesn’t go well, ending in tears and rope burn on Neville’s end. Loki tries to kiss it better, but to no avail. The vulture woman leaves in a huff, and Harry hears Uncle Moony talking to his father about ‘socialising’, whatever that was. 

His third Christmas, he actually understands what’s going on, and for weeks, he’s bouncing about the house in anticipation of the holiday. He and Loki knock over several ugly, expensive-looking vases, spurring Kreacher’s ire. The grumpy House Elf is banished to his cupboard for an hour. Harry remembers helping (or rather watching) his uncles putting together reindeer garlands and drawing little glasses on some of them, and his father giving the both of them salty looks whenever he noticed them. It wasn’t long before a transformed Loki got her teeth in them and tore most of them down. Harry could recall unwrapping a train set that flew into the air as soon as it was free, and Loki clinging onto the toy dragon that her parents gave her. He remembers watching as Uncle Padfoot douses the Christmas pudding with water, and squealing in delight as his father screams in terror when it bursts into flames. Needless to say, no one was having any of _that_ particular pudding.  

He and Loki come across Uncle Padfoot passed out in the bathtub the next morning. Clearly, he’d fallen asleep whilst having a bath. Why did he still have his clothes on though? Silly Padfoot. 

Harry remembers his fourth birthday party, which he shares with his sister, even though she’s older than him. There’s cake and balloons and music, and Neville is back with his vulture grandmother. It doesn’t end in tears this time, but he doesn’t like the birthday cake (it’s chocolate, pumpkin and pistachio; the family favourite), so he mostly chatters about plants whilst Harry and Loki feast and get covered in chocolate. 

Harry remembers starting school with Loki. They are both seven. Dudley is there, with his Muggle friends. Running from them and hiding is quite fun, believe it or not. They just have to be careful not to spend too long hiding, otherwise they’d be late for class. Lunch for the first time ends in a fight when Dudley breaks his glasses and Loki pushed him into a patch of stinging nettles as payback. It's hilarious, but they get punished for it, which isn't so great. 

Harry remembers playing Hide and Seek with Loki, and suddenly being able to fit in the laundry basket again. It leads to a lot of pranks later on. 

Harry remembers when Loki turns nine and goes out with her family. He gets jealous and follows them through the fireplace. What a mistake that turns out to be… 

Harry remembers visiting his mother’s grave with his father. They don't say anything, just lay down the bouquet of lilies in front of the headstone and stand there in mournful silence until it gets late. Harry doesn't mention the dark, cloaked figure or the pale bat that he sometimes sees during these visits, both lurking around a nearby tree. 

Harry remembers the letters that arrived, addressed to him and Loki with a red wax seal that bore a familiar-looking crest.


	5. Chapter 5 - Loki Remembers...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late. It's been done for ages but I've been distracted, and things have been happening in real life.
> 
> Enjoy.

Loki remembers cold. Remembers falling asleep to a near-Arctic wind howling outside her nursery window and hearing her big brother howl with it. Remembers watching in awe at the great beasts flying outside and clutching the bean-filled likeness of them that she treasured. Those days are faded recollections now. Sad, but a part of life, it seems. 

Loki remembers the day her Mummy and Daddy left her in England with Uncle Remus, promising to visit regularly. For many nights, her lonely, frightened cries fill the dark halls of Grimmauld Place, prompting the squalling of another cub who shared his nursery with her. She remembers being comforted by her Uncle, his scent like her Daddy's but also different. There is a sweetness about him, like the candy he constantly keeps in his pockets and gives to people who are unhappy. Loki remembers taking advantage of his kindness just to get more chocolate. It takes him a while to figure it out. 

Loki remembers her first full moon in Grimmauld Place. Her parents are there, visiting like they promised. It's the first night there that she doesn't spend crying. She starts crying again when they leave, but Uncle Remus gives her chocolate and plays Dragon Adventure with her, so maybe it's not so awful here. 

Loki remembers turning three. Her whole family come to celebrate, and her new brother is there, so she doesn't mind not being able to come home, even if she doesn't understand why. 

Her first day of 'big school' is… difficult to describe. They're seven. She and Harry share classes with a boy called Dudley. He's supposed to be Harry's cousin, but he's neither a part of the pack nor a very nice person. He punches Harry and breaks his glasses during morning break. Loki remembers, gleefully, how she shoves him into a patch of stinging nettles as payback the moment they're allowed out for lunch break. She doesn't quite understand why she gets punished for it, and apparently Uncle Padfoot and Uncle James agree. Her actions are perfectly justified, and 'the fat snot deserved it'.  She supposes it's worth seeing the look on the face of the vulture woman and the fat, neckless man who are Dudley's parents. 

Loki remembers playing hide and seek with Harry and finding a little black kitten hiding in a basket full of clean laundry. The kitten smells of treacle and pine-scented broomstick polish, so Loki decides to show him to Uncle James, feeling very proud of her little brother for learning how to transform, despite not being wolf. It takes Uncle James a while to realise that Loki isn't joking, and Harry is in fact an Animagus like him. He too is proud, but also sad for some reason. Loki has noticed this often, and has thus always wondered why her cat-brother's stag-father is always happy yet sad at the same time. 

Loki remembers the night she found out why. She is eight, and Harry soon to be the same in no less than a week. She remembers walking in on her brother comforting his father, who is hugging him and crying. Loki can only describe him as looking crushed. Loki remembers watching silently in the doorway, trying to understand until Sirius finds her and rushes her off to Remus. When she asks why Harry and Uncle James are so sad, the two wolves tell her about Lily, and she thinks she understands. The next time her Uncle James is upset, she helps Harry comfort him, and so do Sirius and Remus. It feels right, she realises. It feels like something true packs do, and suddenly hers doesn't feel so far away. 

Loki remembers turning nine, and finally being allowed to return… 'home'. For a while, at least. It's different to how she remembers. Colder. The mountains are so much bigger and greyer, and the big house where her family lives is… lonelier. There are few others in this mountainous land on the other side of the world. She remembers her grandmother Cydonia looking at her strangely, but thinks nothing of it. Her family welcomes her happily, and she too is happy. But something feels…. off. Something's missing. Or rather… out of place. 

Loki remembers her big brother, Eirik, finding a little black cat hidden between the logs used for firewood, and chasing after it when it bolts. Remembers smelling treacle and chasing after them both, screaming at her big Alpha brother not to hurt her cat-brother. Remembers rushing past Eirik, who has skidded to a halt, and leaping over the fence that surrounds her family's house. She remembers snatching Harry up by the scruff of his neck and cradling his shivering form close to her heaving chest, telling him off for sneaking away like he did, sounding just like Remus. Unlike Loki, Harry was not born to this cold. He is even less suited to it than her, and it had almost killed her as a baby. He shouldn't be here, she says to him, tone severe, angry and most of all scared. 

Loki remembers ignoring the heavy flapping of wings around her. Remembers looking up to see her father running full pelt towards them, wand out, screaming at her to run, now! 

She… she remembers the low growl of a beast behind her, freezing her in place more effectively than the cold ever would. Remembers a pair of icy blue eyes staring at her. Glistening grey scales, large, leathery wings, slate spines and short, sharp horns. Remembers stumbling backwards, still clutching Harry, who's shivering from more than just the cold. Remembers the ground-shaking 'thud!' of another dragon landing behind her. Hears two angry roars and the desperate screaming of her parents. 

She remembers claws, light, heat… 

Pain… 

Screams… 

Spells… 

Fear… 

Darkness… 

Loki remembers the apologies she receives when she wakes up. So many people are sorry. Harry for sneaking after her, her father for not getting there quickly enough, Eirik for chasing Harry away, her mother for letting her come. She doesn't care though. She's scared and in pain, her arm and back hurt, and so do parts of her face. 

Harry's scar is only small. A flare of warped flesh on his elbow, easily passed off as an accident with the cooker or the fireplace. Loki's scar stretches all along her upper back, up the side of her neck, down her right arm and creeps up her face. 

Loki remembers the day she and Harry saw a portrait of a dragon in Diagon Alley, two months later. The moment painted flames spew out of its mouth, they're both running, terrified, out of the bookshop and cowering behind Uncle Sirius's legs. 

The only dragon toy Loki has kept with her is the bean-filled one she's had since she was a baby. Only now it has been stitched and repaired too many times to be recognised as a dragon. She still calls it Patty. 

Loki remembers the pale, sleek form of the barn owl at the window, two letters clasped in its beak. Remembers the bubbling excitement as she sees the crest stamped into the wax, eagerly tearing it open to read with greedy eyes the words of her Hogwarts acceptance letter. Remembers Harry doing the same, and Remus, Sirius and James watching them with barely contained excitement. 

"We're going to Hogwarts!" 


End file.
